Moving On
by leafeater
Summary: Harry's life has been designed around a prophecy made before his birth. What will happen after the prophecy has been fulfilled? As Harry struggles to find his place in a changing world his friends deal with the aftermath of the war


Disclaimer - You know the drill. You don't seriously think I created Harry Potter, do you? Give me a break, I'm not that smart. No, these characters are the sole property of J. Rowling and a number of publishing companies.

A/N – I tried to write this story about three years ago and got totally deadlocked. Now, with the recent release of book 7, I've decided to rework my original story to make it a) finished and b) Deathly Hallows compatible. No major spoilers, but if you really don't want to know ANYTHING about the book, I'd skip this for now.

To my original readers, if you're even still out there – sorry this took so long! I hope you like how it turned out.

Enjoy!

-Leaf

MOVING ON

A flash of dazzling green light. It lit up the grounds.

The battle came to a halt so abruptly it was surreal. Ron lowered his wand; the Death Eater he'd been dueling did likewise. All around him, he saw Death Eaters, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and students giving each other questioning looks. The hatred and fear that had fueled this war had faded into utter confusion. What had just happened?

In the shadow cast by the lingering green light, he saw Hermione, her face taut with fear. "Someone's used Avada Kedavra," she said softly. "But why hasn't the light faded?"

If anything, Ron thought, the frightening glow was growing brighter. The Death Eaters had formed together in a group, huddling, facing outward as if braced for the worst. The members of the Order began to form a protective circle around the small group of students.

"What's wrong with them?" He heard Kingsley ask, staring at the cluster of Death Eaters who were staring around with panicked expressions on their faces. "It's got to be one of them who's done it, none of us are trained in the use of Unforgivable Curses and it's not something one can just pick up."

"Who's dead?" Ron demanded, looking wildly for who was missing among them. "Who isn't here?"

Hermione had been tallying the members of the D.A. "We're all here. It must be someone from the order…"

But Ginny had suddenly gone white. "Ron…" she gripped his sleeve. "Harry's not here."

"Harry…" Ron looked around in a panic but did not see his friend anywhere. "HARRY!"

All activity stopped, and Ron became aware that everyone was looking at him. The green light had become so bright it was nearly white now and he flinched. "It's Harry, Professor!" he implored Professor McGonagall. "He's killing him!"

Hermione stared tensely toward the lake.

An agonized cry rang through the night. The hair at the back of Ron's neck stood on end. At the same moment, every Death Eater cried out in pain and grabbed at the Dark Mark Ron knew was burned into their forearms.

"Harry…" Hermione whispered, gripping Ron's hand

The green light flared white, brilliant and dazzling, then vanished. The clearing was plunged into darkness.

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"HARRY!"

It was taking all Harry's strength to stay conscious. He felt like he was floating in a haze.

Vaguely, he registered Voldemort, panicked and diving for the wand that had flown from his hand. Harry fought to stay standing, but his consciousness was flickering. A brilliant light shone around them both, emanating from the beam that connected their wands.

With a sob of effort, he threw himself forward and caught the wand before Voldemort could reach it. The combined energy from the spells they'd just sent at each other had lit up the entire grounds of Hogwarts, and it was difficult to see. The light shone in Harry's eyes, and he squinted.

The sharp green light persisted. Harry pelted along, digging in his pockets as he ran. The wand…Neville's wand…I need… He felt his hand close around the strip of birch wood in his robe pocket. Whipping it out, he turned and ran back the other way. Voldemort was racing to meet him now, a spell half-formed on his lips. Harry dove out of the way as a jet of green light passed through the point where he'd been standing.

As he rolled, he focused the little energy he had, directing it to this one final task.

He came up on his knees, Neville's wand held before him. "Avada Kedavra!"

The spell seemed to rip itself out from his very core, and Harry cried out for the shock and pain of it. He was aware of the clearing growing, suddenly, much brighter, and the shocked look on Voldemort's face as the jet of light caught him in the chest. He was dead before he began to fall; his body had gone before he hit the ground.

Exhausted, barely conscious, Harry slumped forward onto the ground. He shivered.

Someone's arms were around him. "Harry," a distant voice said.

Harry struggled.

"Harry, it's me, it's Ron."

"Ron…" Harry mumbled. He had to explain…Ron would know what to do, surely… "Ron, I killed him…"

"Shh."

"He's…"

"It's okay, Harry."

Harry felt the ground slip sideways beneath him, spilling him into his best friend's arms. "The others…"

"They're up near the forest, finishing off the Death Eaters."

"'s over?" Harry could hardly believe this. The war he'd been born to fight, the war he'd been fighting all his life, really over?

"Just rest, okay mate?"

"Can't…" Harry whispered. "He'll be back…always…he…"

Ron held his friend's shoulders, rocking him as flashes of green light played in the distance. "It's over, Harry. All over."

The Death Eaters seemed to have lost the will to go on. Many had thrown down their wands, and those who remained were putting up a very poor resistance. Minerva McGonnagal glanced about, shifty, wary of a trap.

The members of the D.A. had clustered around the wandless Death Eaters, collected their wands, and were keeping a careful watch. The half-moon flicked out from behind a cloud, and McGonnagal could see tears streaming down Hermione's face.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" That was definitely Bill Weasley. Who had he disarmed?

Hagrid appeared on the horizon, carrying a limp body in his arms and trailed by Ron Weasley.

"Who is that?" McGonnagal asked sharply, then hissed in pain. "Who's he carrying?"

No one answered. Then,

"Potter," Kingsley whispered, staring.

"Harry…" McGonnagal went rigid with shock. "No, it isn't…it can't be.."

Ron was hurrying over, and his mother called out to him, but he ran straight to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her.

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"What happened to him?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, staring at Harry. The boy was curled up on a bed, eyes shut tight, whimpering.

"We don't know," McGonnagal sighed. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "He fought Voldemort. His friend found him like this after Voldemort had gone."

"Gone where?"

"Can you help the boy?" McGonnagal prodded.

"Oh…" she turned to Harry. "I think he's just in shock…" She laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry?"

Harry's shivers calmed slightly. He blinked. "P…professor…"

"Harry, I need you to tell us what happened between you and Voldemort," McGonnagal said. "We must know what he did to you…"

"What…he…nothing…" Harry shut his eyes tight. "Didn't hurt me."

"Where's he gone?" Madam Pomfrey interrupted. McGonnagal shot her a look.

"Killed…"

"What do you mean?" McGonnagal asked sharply. "Did he attack you, Harry?"

"Ran away," Harry said, his eyes slipping closed again. "Got Neville's wand…he tried to kill me…"

"You had Neville Longbottom's wand?"

"Found it…I was going to give it back, but…"

"The attack," McGonnagal nodded. "You still had his wand."

"Killed him with it," Harry said softly.

"Killed whom?"

"Voldemort."

Madam Pomfrey's breath hitched.

"He's dead?" McGonnagal said swiftly. "You're certain, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

Ginny Weasley came bursting into the hospital wing. "Professor! Where's Harry? Ron said something about Voldemort…"

McGonnagal caught Ginny by the arm. "Harry is resting," she said softly, "and is not to be disturbed until morning. You understand?" she spoke to Madam Pomfrey. "He is to be left in peace tonight."

She nodded.

"God knows he's earned it," said McGonnagal softly, leading Ginny away.

Ron entered the Gryffindor Common Room, unsteady on his feet.

He'd waited outside the hospital wing until McGonnagal had emerged, but much to his frustration the professor hadn't answered any of his questions. "Harry will be fine," McGonnagal had said, "and there's really nothing you can do for him tonight. The war is over; go back to your Common Room and celebrate with the others."

This was the furthest thing from a celebration Ron could remember ever having seen. The Gryffindors, usually the first to celebrate any little victory, were clustered in a somber huddle near the fire. When Ron entered, Hermione broke away and ran to embrace him.

"Did you hear..."

"It's over," Ron said heavily. "Harry's killed...Voldemort."

It was the first time he'd said the name, and it felt odd in his mouth, strangely forbidden, though he knew there was no longer anything to fear. A collective shudder went through the room, but he knew they were coming to the same realization. Voldemort, the darkest wizard of an age, the murderer who'd haunted their nightmares all their lives, who'd attacked their families, killed their parents, kept them all trembling in his shadow all these years, was dead. Really dead.

It was almost anticlimactic, Ron thought. Harry had beaten Voldemort so many times already. This victory had been celebrated into the ground on all those occasions when they'd believed, as they were afraid to believe tonight, that Voldemort had truly gone forever.

He remembered being five years old and sitting on his father's knee, hearing tales of the great hero Harry Potter, a boy just his age who'd already defeated the most powerful dark wizard in the world. He remembered his favorite big brother Charlie showing him sketches he'd done of a baby repelling the most evil curse there was, the Killing Curse, and forcing his attacker to flee.

He remembered being twelve and listening in awe as Dumbledore announced to the whole school that Lord Voldemort had possessed a teacher and tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, but that Harry, who was only a first year, had managed to stop him.

He remembered being thirteen and the rush of relief as Harry brought his baby sister back from the very hands of Voldemort. He remembered being fifteen and looking down on Harry lying on the grass and gasping that Voldemort had gotten himself a body, had risen again.

And now it was all over, and Voldemort was dead, and it felt like they'd all known this was coming.

Neville spoke. "It was always going to happen like this. One of them was always going to kill the other. The rest of us were just a distraction."

Ron wondered idly if Neville had any idea how close to the truth that statement was.

"It's been down to Harry and Voldemort practically since Harry was born," Neville continued. "Think about it. Everyone knows the Potters were marked for death, but no one knows why. It must have been Harry. Voldemort came to their house that night to kill Harry."

"A baby?" Seamus said doubtfully. "I know he likes killing, but why would he make a special effort for a baby?"

"There was something...special about Harry," Dean mused. "I mean, he couldn't kill him, could he? He must have known Harry would be a threat to him."

"And when the curse failed," Seamus chimed in, "he swore revenge."

"No," Neville contradicted him. "Not revenge. He wasn't angry then, he was afraid."

"Of course," Parvati breathed. "He must have thought Harry would grow up and become a threat to him, but he hadn't reckoned on being bested by a baby."

"And when the curse failed and scarred Harry," Nevile continued, "It became clear that if Voldemort was to be stopped, Harry would be the one to do it.

"Voldemort didn't care who killed Harry," Parvati said slowly. "He just wanted it done. That's why he brought along all those Death Eaters tonight."

"Nah, he needed them to hold us off," Ron argued. "If it weren't for them, he'd never have got near Harry."

"Oh, he would have," Hermione said. "He'd have killed us all if he had to, but he'd have got there in the end."

"In the end," Neville continued as if uninterrupted, "all of us and all of the Death Eaters were just keeping each other distracted so Harry and Voldemort could face each other alone."

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"What I want to know," Arthur Weasley insisted, "is why Harry was able to use a Killing Curse at all. Almost no one knows how to use an Unforgivable Curse, and most of those who do are Death Eaters. I can't imagine where Harry would have learned it."

"Professor Snape taught him," McGonnagal said sadly. "He's been having lessons with Snape for the past two years."

Arthur stared. "Killing lessons?"

McGonnagal sighed. "I wish I could say it wasn't so. Professor Snape is the only one Dumbledore trusted to teach Harry. He was, after all, a Death Eater himself."

"That's where he learned it, I suppose."

"Yes." McGonnagal shifted slightly in his chair. "Arthur, please sit down."

Arthur sat.

"A prophecy was made," McGonnagal said, "shortly before Harry's birth. It was prophesized that the boy who could defeat Lord Voldemort would be born at the end of July of that year."

"Harry," said Arthur softly.

"Yes," McGonnagal agreed. "Harry was the only person with a chance at defeating Lord Voldemort. In order to do so, he would need to be armed with the ability to use a Killing Curse, and with the wand of another. Tonight, when the attack came, I saw to it that Voldemort and Harry were left on their own."

"You left them alone?" Arthur cried, leaping to his feet. "You knew they were together and you left them alone? Harry could have died! How could you not interfere?"

"Arthur, sit."

Arthur sank back into his chair, trembling with disbelief.

"I have interfered many times," McGonnagal said, "as have Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and countless others. When Harry faced Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, it was Dumbledore who sent Fawkes to his aid. When he confronted Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries, we again came to fight at his side. Tonight, the terms of the prophecy were to be fulfilled. Harry was ready. It was what Voldemort had come for. The two were ready to sever the link that has tied them for nearly twenty years."

Arthur took in the implications of this. Harry would be free of Voldemort for the first time in his life.

McGonnagal seemed to know what he was thinking. "It will be both a blessing and a curse, Arthur. Tomorrow morning Harry will wake, and his actions and choices will no longer be steered by the presence of his parents' murderer. He will have no obligation, no duty, no burden. He will no longer need to be the savior of the wizarding world.

"At the same time, however, he will have no direction. For the past seven years, Harry has been preparing for this night. Now that it has passed, what will he do? Who will he be? What will he make of himself, now that he is no longer simply The Boy Who Lived?"

"He's still The Boy Who Lived..."

"Yes, that is how Rita Skeeter will tell it," McGonnagal agreed. "But for Harry, that part of life is over. He has come of age as the adversary of the greatest evil of our time, and now he has defeated that evil."

"Will he know how to be anything else?" Arthur asked softly.

"I don't know what will happen," McGonnagal shook his head. "It will be for Harry to determine."

Green.

A scream.

Pain.

Bright.

Awareness crashed into Harry like a wave. For a moment he didn't know where he was, or why, or how he'd gotten there. Only one thing registered, and it was not so much a thing as it was an absence of something. A void. Something that was supposed to be, that had always been, was now horribly, frighteningly missing. He was no longer whole.

Someone was at his side. Madam Pomfrey. He was in the Hospital Wing. She was speaking - her mouth was moving - he tried to focus.

"...all right, Mr. Potter? You've been in shock, you see, but nothing to worry about," she bustled around him, pulling bottles from cabinets, pouring liquids into tin cups. "you've come out of it all right."

"Who's died?" Harry asked weakly, drained by the sensation of something lacking. "Someone's died, right?"

"Died?" She looked at him closely.

"Someone in the Order?" he asked. "Or was it a student? It wasn't Ron, was it, it can't have been, right? Or Hermione, or Neville, or Professor Lupin..."

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey pushed a cup into his hand. "Drink this."

Harry struggled. "But there was a battle...something's wrong...what's gone wrong?"

"Nothing has," she smiled at him. "We won, Harry. I ought to say you won, of course, as it was you who killed him."

"Killed him...Voldemort, do you mean?"

"Of course I do. Now drink up!" she barked. "You'll need that before you can have any visitors, and Miss Weasley been waiting outside for the past three hours. I'm off to let her in." She gave him a fierce look. "You drink all of that, now."

Harry brought the cup to his lips and downed whatever-it-was. It tasted terrible and did nothing to alleviate the sensation of loss. Absently, he reached up and traced his fingers along his scar, half expecting to feel the familiar prickling sensation. Of course he did not. Voldemort was dead. He would not feel pain in his scar ever again.

Ginny ran into the room and took the chair beside Harry's bed. "All right, Harry?" she asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. It was a phrase he rarely considered. Whether or not he was all right had been irrelevant ever since Sirius' death. The war was just more important.

But the war's over. Starting today, it matters if I'm not okay.

"I don't know," he told her truthfully. "I haven't given it a lot of thought."

"Ron told me about the prophecy, Harry," Ginny said softly.

Harry stared. "You didn't know? I thought Hermione would have said something by now."

"I knew there was a prophecy. I knew Voldemort wanted it." Ginny shook her head. "No one told me what it said, although we assumed it was something to do with you. Harry, if I'd known you'd have to do this..."

"I didn't want to kill him," Harry said softly. "I never wanted to kill anyone."

Ginny's eyes closed briefly. "Oh, Harry…"

"There's nothing you could have done. McGonnagal told me. It had to be me."

"I know." Ginny sighed. "I just...I'm just sorry. I hate that you had to go through all this."

"We all gave up something tonight," said Harry, thinking of Fred.

Ginny nodded slowly. "We've all made sacrifices to this war. But Harry…sometimes it seems like you've had to give up _everything_."

He took her hand. "Not everything."

Ginny crawled up onto Harry's bed and laid down next to him, still gripping his hand tightly.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel." Harry whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...it's good he's gone, right?"

"Obviously," Ginny allowed a small smile.

"Because so many have died. So many people have lost someone. Or everyone. And it was only going to continue...I had to do it, you see? I'd sooner die than kill again, but I couldn't let him live!"

"Harry," Ginny turned to face him. "You did the right thing. You know that, right?"

"I've been connected to him for my entire life," Harry said softly. "Before I knew who he was. Before I knew who I was. We were always linked, and I never truly understood that. And now he's gone, and..." Harry shuddered. "It's as though I'm only half-here." He ran his fingers through his hair desperately, and continued. "I know I made the right choice; really, there was no choice. I just didn't expect...this...

"And at the same time," he went on in a rush, "I'm realizing how deeply connected I was to the most evil wizard of the century, my parents' murderer, and it's...it's repulsive. It's horrible..."

He broke off, unable to continue, shoulders shaking with barely contained sobs.

After a few moments, he felt Ginny's hand move tentatively across his chest. He tensed, unused to this closeness, having rarely been embraced by anyone. He thought of his parents, who would have been only a few years older than he was now, learning that their infant son was marked for death. "They'd still be alive," he said bitterly, "if it weren't for that damn prophecy."

And Ginny answered, "So would Voldemort.

"Your mother and father were great enemies of Voldemort, Harry. If they had lived, they would have continued to fight against him, and had you not been prophesized to destroy him, they almost certainly would have died at his hands eventually. You're not to blame yourself."

Harry sighed. "Gin...why did all this happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean everything," Harry let himself relax, leaning into her protective embrace. "Why did Tom Riddle go so wrong? He seemed like such a normal boy. He was human once. And why did I have to be the one to stop him? Of all the wizards in all the world, why choose me? Why not someone cleverer, or stronger, or braver, or powerful, or older?" He closed his eyes and did not try to stop his tears this time. "Why'd I have to spend my life so tightly bound to the one I'd have to kill, so I feel like I've split myself in two now and I don't know how to heal? Why'd my parents have to die, and Sirius?" He was trembling.

Ginny didn't know how to soothe him, for she had been wondering the same thing herself. For lack of anything helpful to say, she wrapped her arms around Harry and pulled him close.

"Too many of us," she said finally, "have lost everyone we loved to Voldemort. You, Harry, had already given up everything that ought to have been yours. Last night, in fulfilling the prophecy, you sacrificed once more so that no one else ever would. Now the war is finally over, and everyone will celebrate, but you will have no celebration, because for you this hasn't been a victory.

"But you won't be alone, Harry." Ginny said firmly, a single tear sliding down her cheek, unnoticed among Harry's sobs. "You'll never be alone again."

Whatever Ginny said, Harry didn't think he'd ever felt more alone in his life.

He was released from the Hospital Wing the next morning, and made his way slowly up to Gryffindor tower. He barely registered Ron chattering away beside him, or Hermione's guiding hand on his arm.

Ron cast a concerned glance at Hermione as Harry nearly drifted into a wall for the third time. "Harry," he said gently, "are you feeling all right?"

"What?" Harry blinked. "Oh, yes, fine."

"You're not yourself," Hermione protested.

"I'm tired, is all." Harry didn't look at his friends. "I need to sleep."

In the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron had anticipated a raucous celebration. He had expected to have to fight off every single Gryffindor in order to get Harry upstairs without having to answer any questions. He was startled, then, to be greeted by an almost empty room. The only person sitting before the fire was Neville, and he was crying.

Ron and Hermione began to lead Harry upstairs, but he resisted, watching Neville. "Come on, Harry," Ron said softly. "You need to rest.

But Harry pulled away and approached the fire slowly. "Neville?"

Neville looked up, tears streaking his face. Harry reached into his robes. "Here, I've got your wand."

Ron stared. What had Harry been doing with Neville's wand?

Neville took it. "Th...thanks, Harry." He swallowed hard.

"What's wrong?"

"McGonnagal told me...about the prophecy..."

Harry knelt beside him. "When did she tell you?"

"Last night, after she'd talked to you," Neville looked down. "Called me to her office. Harry, do you think it should have been me?"

Harry looked at Neville. "Does it matter?" He asked.

"I guess not," Neville said with a sigh. "Only I hate to think..."

"Don't," Harry said softly. "Neville, don't think about it, okay?"

"It could have been me, Harry. Maybe it should have been me. Maybe you wouldn't have had to live with all this, if I had instead."

"How would that have been any better?"

"How could it have happened that way?" Ron demanded, not understanding a word. Harry, who'd been so far away a few minutes ago that he'd nearly been walking into walls, was now consoling Neville...why?

"Ron," Harry said, "Hermione. Sit down."

Ron and Hermione tentatively joined Harry and Neville in front of the fire.

"You remember the prophecy, of course? That if Voldemort could be defeated, it would be done by someone born at the end of July. Someone whose parents had fought against him."

Ron and Hermione nodded.

"And that could be me," Neville said softly. "It could just has easily have been me...if he hadn't chosen Harry..."

"Voldemort chose you?" Ron stared at Harry in shock. "Why?"

"The prophecy said that he would mark one of us as his equal." Ron's eyes flicked upward to Harry's scar. "Yeah. I got marked. Could've been Neville, but it wasn't. It was me."

"But why?" Neville asked again. "It shouldn't have been."

"It shouldn't have been either of you," Hermione said softly. "It shouldn't have happened at all."

"Your wand killed him, Neville," Harry looked down. "I can't fight him with mine. So you see, in the end it didn't matter. It was both of us."

"Both of us," Neville tried on the idea.

"Of course it was," Harry closed his eyes, exhaustion overtaking him. "We were both born for this, it's why we're here. We've both lost our parents, we've both been through hell. Tonight we both killed him. Neither of us could have done it alone."

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"What happens now?"

Arthur Weasley was pacing. McGonnagal sat calmly behind his desk. Her calm frustrated Arthur no end.

"Please, sit down, Arthur."

Arthur spun to face her. "Do you not understand what's just happened? Harry's a child, Minerva. He's seventeen years old, and he's just won a war. He's killed a man, a man who's been linked to his mind all his life, and he feels that. He feels that Voldemort is gone and he doesn't know how to handle it!"

"Sit." Arthur found himself in a chair. "Now, Arthur, explain this to me again. You say Harry feels that Voldemort is gone?"

"What's so hard about this?" Arthur demanded. "Yes, he feels it. Just as he felt when Voldemort was angry, or happy, now he's dead and a part of Harry is dead with him. And he's so afraid, Minerva, he..." Arthur broke off, unable to continue.

McGonnagal closed her eyes. "I was afraid of this."

"What do you mean?" Arthur demanded.

"As I mentioned before," McGonnagal said, "Harry has lost a large part of his identity in this war. Voldemort is dead, and as Harry killed him, he feels as though he's killed a part of himself. It is complicated further by the fact that Harry was largely unaware of the extent of his connection to Voldemort, and bore no particular animosity toward the connection. His mind is quite literally in denial that Voldemort's presence is gone, and Harry doesn't know how to find and accept what remains as his true self. It is possible he is unready to live without Voldemort."

"You knew this would happen?" Arthur stared in horror at McGonnagal.

"I suspected it might," McGonnagal said heavily.

"Then how could you let it happen? Knowing what it would do to Harry?"

"What else could I do? Let Voldemort live?" McGonnagal rested her head in her hands. "It had to be done, and Harry was the only one who could do it. I don't like it any more than you do, Arthur, but what you and I like is irrelevant. Even Harry is irrelevant. We did what had to be done."

"So what happens now?" Arthur asked again. "He's not going to be in any condition to start Auror training, at least not for a while, and he's already done his NEWTs. Are you just going to send him back to the Dursleys after everything he's been through?" Arthur spoke with a challenge implied in his tone; if McGonnagal meant to send Harry back to Privet Drive, she'd have to go through Arthur first.

But McGonnagal surprised him. "There is no need for Harry to return to the Dursleys," she said simply. "He lived there for his own protection, so that he would be safe from Voldemort. Now that Voldemort is no longer a threat..."

"Right," Arthur interrupted, "he'll come home with me then."

McGonnagal allowed a small smile. "Why don't you go tell him in the morning. The boy could use some good news."

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Harry awoke in the middle of the night, horribly alone and afraid. Something was missing.

Then he remembered what it was and felt ill. Surely he shouldn't be feeling the loss of Voldemort this way? Wasn't this all supposed to be a good thing?

Ron was there. "Harry? You called out in your sleep, are you okay?"

Harry began to answer yes, that he was fine, that it was just a nightmare, but in that moment the loneliness and horror overtook his pride. He made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a cry and felt Ron climb up onto the bed beside him.

Ron did not try to reassure Harry, to tell him everything was all right, because everything wasn't all right. Maybe it would be, but not tonight. Tonight Ron was eighteen years old and had to be an adult. Tonight his best friend was a killer, and that was a burden Harry couldn't bear alone.

So he wrapped his arms around Harry and held on tightly, and as he felt Harry sob into his shoulder, Ron let himself cry for the first time since the battle.

End.


End file.
